As I finish up with radiation, I am finding my nails are getting pretty awful again. I have had a ridge in them that is either a result of the SVC syndrome blood clots (someone suggested my hands were so swollen it pinched the nails beds) or the chemo drugs making them noticeably thinner. Either way, they are ripping low as that ridge grows out! And these ripped nails are getting caught on everything and every little one I touch. Must mean it is time to get a new spring color in my favorite polish, right? Check out the last time I talked about this Brittle Nail Side Effect here.

I’m not sure what the normal protocol is for life threatening events and survival, but years ago I had blood clots in my lungs (pulmonary embolisms) and obviously I survived. From that date forward, my mom called it my second birthday. On my first second birthday, she even bought me a card and gifts. Maybe even balloons if I remember correctly?

When I last updated my treatment story, I wrote about having my port removed after nearly a week in the hospital being treated for SVC Syndrome and various blood clots. Here we are at day eight of my hospital stay and I wake up to find out that my “numbers” that measure the clotting of my blood were way out of range. So very far out, that they shut off my heparin for a few hours. Um, yeah, so remember that port out one day, go home plan? It didn’t happen.

Don’t worry, we are nearing the end of the story of my SVC syndrome from blood clots and the related hospital stay! If you will, come back to early fall when I was in the hospital trying desperately to get home to my girls again (you can see the previous posts here under Detour – SVC Syndrome).

We are now at the seventh day of my stay and I awoke anxious, ready to have my port taken out. During the morning, the doctors came around and I found out that if I had the procedure done that day, I could go home the next day (spoiler, doctors are not always right). If Interventional Radiology couldn’t get it done that day, I would be scheduled for the next day and go home the following. This had me concerned since we were headed into a weekend and it seems pretty obvious that much of the hospital would be operating on a limited type staffing through a weekend and, rightfully so, working on emergency patients first. With how quickly they had been able to get my care started when I arrived the week prior on a weekend, I don’t have a problem with that. Once the port was removed, they would need to get my Heparin (short term blood thinner I had through IV) numbers back to level, then switch me over to Lovenox (more long term blood thinner injected). My activity was to be limited once I was home. The original plan was to take it easy for 10 days with lots of rest and only going to doctor appointments. I was not to be left alone with my girls or drive anyone anywhere for the same time, until I was seen.

This middle part of the week, as I continued to deflate, there were still a lot of questions. I was still stuck in bed. I was dizzy on and off. The left side of my face felt weird, including my eye, which is nerve wracking of course. No one had come to a consensus of whether I should be moving my legs around while I was in bed to prevent clots or if that would dislodge the clots I had.

So here we are, day two in the hospital, after a sleepless night and quite a day that led us here. That Guy was with me, my dad still hadn’t seen me so he came up at some point that morning. The doctors came around doing rounds. When I awoke, my arms and hands were even puffier than before! It seemed like this day brought even more questions than answers, which was very frustrating.

I was still very out of it. Some might say I always am, so just imagine how I was even worse. I was not allowed to eat solid food we found out and was not allowed to eat anything until after my IR check that day. Someone had allowed me to have dinner the night before, whoops! And that kind of sums up how everything went that day.

Once I was back in a little private triage room, which in reality was a hallway where there was a little staff room if I remember correctly, I remember feeling really puffy. I started taking off my rings. Then my necklace. Then my bracelet. And then my wig. The gentleman who had gotten me the wheelchair was seriously the most calm person ever considering the circumstances. He got my mom a little bag to put everything in for me (Catch up with my trip to the ER starting here).

That Little Girl has a little diddy she likes to sing. It goes something like this, “Danger! Danger! Choking Hazard. Choking Hazard. Danger! Danger! Choking Hazard. Choking Hazard….” It started a little bit after That Baby was born and there was a particular toy she wanted. We tried to explain all the small parts were dangerous to not just her but also her baby sister. We agreed to buy it if she kept it all out of her mouth, something we are still working on. So now she calls all similar toys, “choking hazard Tinkerbell” or “choking hazard such and such” when talking about them. Well, the next part of the story is about me and the day I felt like I was in danger and well, like someone was choking me. Don’t worry, they weren’t.